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Friday, March 7, 2008

Vedere Parola

I sit at the counter, or at a table in the corner, and I watch. I listen to the way sound travels across a room, echoes off of a ceiling, and slides down a wall. I note the way light and shadow play on people’s faces---are reflected in the water glasses, on the spoon in my mug, in the server’s eyes.

I study a scene like a painter studies a landscape or a still-life. I see details and highlights that I file away in my memory. I don’t have a painter’s eyes---I don’t really see the lines, shapes and shadows that way. Instead I see words. Descriptive, lyrical, poetic words. Phrases float before my eyes, and show me how a man’s voice vibrates against my waiting eardrum, the way a child’s eyes light up when the chocolate cake comes to the table.

Everything is filtered, sifted, distilled into words---adjectives, verbs, metaphors and similes. They tumble around inside my head, and meld into something new and wonderful. Then they spill across the page---reaching out to connect with people. Words are my medium, my paint, my clay. They are what I feel, what I hear, what I taste, what I smell, what I say and what I see.

Vedere Parola


Childlife said...

My favorite kind of 'painting'... and you do it so very well. :)

Childlife said...

Awfully quiet around her of late, my verbose little friend... just checkin' for a pulse :)

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